There is a language that cannot be suppressed: may I adopt
Your form or am I a stone confessional, the eternal
Grip on the throat, but also perhaps a wing that can
Fly without duplication? Accommodate the lonely brush stroke,
Its horizon bordered by columns. Ship moors, the water
Rises and comforts itself, the songs must be sung.
The Nonexistent Spaces
We were the ships, we were built, we departed
How to fill a space that has been lost, has sunk
There is a language that cannot be suppressed: may I adopt
The wind blows through you hair, columns hide the years
Nifty Matron, with sensuous hair and breast, the gondola will
The way through is the space of dogs sniffing marble
Colour is hardly a diversion here. The transparent light
The nonexistent spaces in the Arsenale! The swaying columns
How to fill a space that has been lost, has sunk
There is a language that cannot be suppressed: may I adopt
The wind blows through you hair, columns hide the years
Nifty Matron, with sensuous hair and breast, the gondola will
The way through is the space of dogs sniffing marble
Colour is hardly a diversion here. The transparent light
The nonexistent spaces in the Arsenale! The swaying columns